IV. THE MUDBLOOD & THE STUCK-UP
The wild cart ride back to the torch-lit passage didn't take long and, soon enough, we were stumbling through the goblin flanked hall and out of the bank. I left the bag of money with Hagrid and Harry, minus the Galleons tucked securely in my pocket-trusting them to keep it safe and knowing, from experience, that I was liable to put it down on a shelf somewhere only to find I've lost it when we go to pay for something three stores later.
"Might as well get yer uniforms," Hagrid said after a moment of basking in the sunlight, nodding his head towards a store that's sign read:
MADAM MALKIN'S ROBES FOR ALL OCCASIONS.
"Listen, would yeh's mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron?" Hagrid's face was still faintly green. "I hate them Gringotts carts."
We agreed that it was fine.
"Feel better, Hagrid," I added before we separated, smiling sympathetically.
Hagrid made his way down the cobblestone street, his size, like in the Muggle street beyond, effortlessly parting the crowd.
Harry and I nervously made our way into the clothing shop.
Upon entering, we found ourselves faced with Madam Malkin herself-a stumpy little witch draped in mauve and wearing a pleasant smile that settled some of my prickling anxiety. Hagrid was like this big, warm security blanket and when he left I found it harder to stifle how nerve-wracking this all was-both wandering around a strange magical street without him...and around Harry. He was kind of like our buffer and, with him gone, we didn't know how to interact with each other.
"Hogwarts, clear?" Madam Malkin swiftly guessed just as Harry opened his mouth. "Got the lot here-another young man is being fitted up just now, in fact."
I glanced over curiously to see a boy standing on a stool in the back of the store, another witch pinning up his long black robes. His pale, pointed face was the picture of boredom, his grey eyes glazed over and his white-blonde hair slicked back in a style I'd never seen on any eleven-year-old in their right mind.
I had to fight the itching urge to rush over and mess it up.
Madam Malkin led us over and had Harry stand on the stool beside the blonde boy while I leant against a nearby wall to wait, arms loosely crossed.
"Hello, Hogwarts, too?" the other boy asked in a drawling voice.
"Yes," Harry replied.
When he glanced at me, I nodded distractedly in agreement, looking around the store with interest as the seamstresses pinned up the two boys' school robes.
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," the blonde boy drawled. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in something."
Huh...I thought, glancing at the blonde before looking away with a slight crease between my eyebrows. It was both easy, and hard, to read him. Like, there was this mental block-but his general attitude coloured it in for me. The quintessential spoilt rich kid. It did slightly bother me, how I looked at him and felt like someone was covering one of my eyes, but it's not like I haven't met people like that before(Dumbledore being the worst one I've ever met)-some people are just more...open than others.
"Have you got your own broom?"
"No."
"Play Quidditch at all?"
"No."
"I do-Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house-"
I almost rolled my eyes at their truly riveting conversation.
"-know what house you'll be in yet?"
Catching the end of Blondie's question, I glanced up.
To my surprise, he was looking at me sideways, his eyebrows furrowed like he couldn't understand why I wasn't hanging off his every syllable.
When he realised he'd been caught staring, he quickly looked away.
Called it; spoilt rich kid.
He's probably used to having everybody fawn and trip all over him. If he expects me to fawn, then he has another bloody thing coming.
"No," Harry replied looking lost.
Realising the boy reminded him of Dudley, and not in a good way, I stifled a snort.
It didn't even occur to me to wonder how I knew that.
A green rubber band snapped.
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been-" Blondie was saying, glancing at me like he expected me to be impressed by whatever the hell that meant, "imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"
I looked at him disgustedly.
I don't know what a 'Hufflepuff' is, but does this kid need a good kick, or what?
Something about the blonde boy, and his attitude, clawed under my skin and just irritated the absolute hell out of me.
"Not unless you're in it," I said snarkily.
Blondie looked taken aback, his pale eyes narrowing.
Harry turned to me quickly, surprised.
"I don't think I was talking to you, was I?" Blondie retorted snidely.
"I don't take well to stuck-ups," I shot back with a fake smile.
Blondie scowled at me, offended by my attitude reacting to his.
"Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am?" he spat.
"Me?" I quirked an eyebrow mockingly, "I'm Jewel. You? I don't know-and, frankly, don't much care."
His narrowed eyes bloomed into a full-on glare.
"I'd watch what you say to me, Jewel-my father has a lot of influence in the Ministry and-"
I yawned fakely, stretching my arms above my head.
Harry stifled a grin.
"Is this the face of a witch who cares?" I remarked, gesturing at my bored expression.
Blondie turned stiffly towards the window, his face going slightly pink in anger.
"I don't-I say, look at that man!"
Spotting the familiar giant waiting outside-with ice cream, I brightened.
"That's Hagrid," Harry explained looking happy that he knew something that the other boy didn't, "he works at Hogwarts."
I couldn't figure out why Harry was still talking to that entitled prat.
My point was proven by the boy's clear disinterest and distaste.
"Oh. I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"
I felt a flash of indignation on Hagrid's behalf, the corners of my mouth turning down.
"He's the gamekeeper," Harry stated.
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage-lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."
I'll show you savage, I mentally grumbled.
"I think he's brilliant," Harry said, his tone colder than I'd ever heard it.
Blondie sneered slightly.
"Do you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"
"They're dead," Harry replied shortly.
"Not that it's any of your business," I added sharply, hackles rising.
"Oh, sorry," Blondie said to Harry, pointedly ignoring me, "but they were our kind, weren't they?"
"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean," Harry answered.
I shot him a look, wondering why the hell he was still talking to Blondie Mcinsultspeople.
"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families-"
Seeing the way I stiffened, and clearly assuming that I was one of those people, the boy sneered in my direction.
"What's your surname, anyway?"
Madam Malkin let Harry go before he could answer.
"I'll meet you outside," I told Harry firmly when I saw him hesitate, letting him off the hook.
Looking slightly guilty but mostly relieved, he didn't hesitate to book it outside to Hagrid and our melting ice creams.
I climbed onto Harry's abandoned stool, green eyes flashing.
"So, you're with the gamekeeper too, then?" Blondie looked me up and down disdainfully, clearly not making the connection between me and Harry.
My head snapped to the side.
"Hagrid isn't a servant, for your information," I hissed. "He's brilliant-and he's my friend. Then again, I wouldn't expect a stuck-up like you to understand that."
Blondie's pale eyes narrowed again.
"Stop calling me that!" he snapped before stiffly facing forwards with a deep scowl. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you," he added in a derisive mutter, "you're probably a Mudblood."
Even without knowing what that meant, I could tell it was an insult-and a pretty nasty one considering he made sure neither the witch working on his robes nor Madam Malkin heard him use it.
"And you're a stuck-up dingbat," I shot back under my breath.
"If my father were here," he retorted lowly, "you'd think twice about how you speak to me."
"I highly doubt there's a jot your daddy can do about it, or me," I said mockingly. "And it's not like I'm not right. Go on, prove me wrong, I dare you."
We locked glares.
"That's you done, off you go," the other seamstress said, moving back so he could get off the stool.
Blondie didn't move right away, icy grey eyes still narrowed on my fiery green.
"This isn't over, Mudblood," he whispered spitefully.
"My thoughts exactly," I spat.
With a last scowl, he hopped off the stool and left the clothing store, head high and white-blonde hair shining like a beacon.
I hope a dead bird drops on his head.
-or something else bird related.
To my surprise, after a minute, Harry made his way back inside.
"You okay?" he checked.
Realising I'd been muttering under my breath and glaring after the long out of sight prat,I huffed.
"Just making enemies, buying robes..." I drawled with a forced smirk.
When Harry just looked at me, I deflated with a sigh.
"Sorry, he just-he got to me, that blonde bloody-"
Harry looked like he completely understood.
"We probably won't even run into him at Hogwarts," he offered bracingly, glancing at the door with a frown.
"Hm," I said noncommittally.
To be honest, I kind of hope I do run into him.
-With a train and a conductor's hat.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
"Hagrid, what's Quidditch?" Harry asked as we left Scribbulus Writing Implements, parchment and magic colour-changing ink in hand and ice creams long devoured.
I looked up, my angry haze fading-no, not fading, more skirting to the side to make room for curiosity. Like me, Harry had been quiet since Madam Malkin's. All that stuff Blondie was going on about, all that stuff neither of us has a clue about, seemed to of gotten to him. I, on the other hand, was fighting off my rising bloodlust.
"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know-not knowin' Quidditch!"
I rose my hand.
"Uh, I second that lack of knowledge. Judging from what Blondie Mcinsultspeople said in Madam Malkins-what I vaguely paid attention to, anyway-and the store we passed on the way to Gringotts-I'm guessing it's a broom sport, right?"
Harry bit back a grin, amused by my charming, oh-so-mature pet name for our new best mate, only to sober and quickly fill Hagrid in on our run-in at the clothing store when he noticed how bewildered he looked.
"-and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."
"Harry, I'm pretty sure he was talking about me-" I informed him dryly, "he seemed to be under the impression that, because I didn't fall all over him, I must be a Muggleborn."
Harry didn't look any happier hearing that.
Hagrid looked indignant.
"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh were-who both of yeh were-" he glanced at me, "He's grown up knowin' yer names if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh's. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles-look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"
The mention of Petunia Dursley left a sour taste in my mouth and, judging by the apologetic glance Hagrid sent me, it was painted all over my face.
"So what is Quidditch?" Harry steered the conversation back on track.
I let out a quiet sigh, grateful for the subject change.
"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like-like soccer in the Muggle world-"
"Hey, I play soccer!" I exclaimed enthusiastically.
Seeing Hagrid's amusement, my face turned pink.
"Ah-right," I coughed sheepishly. "You were saying?"
"Everyone follows Quidditch-" Hagrid went on, beard twitching, "played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls-sorta hard ter explain the rules."
Craning my neck to look up at the gamekeeper, I found myself imagining a huge oval surrounded by colourful spectator stands, three golden hoops that shot high up in the air at either end, and Hogwarts students-some dressed in red and gold, others silver and green-battling it out in the sky on flying broomsticks.
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"
I snapped out of it, shaking my head.
A yellow rubber band snapped.
"School houses," Hagrid explained. "There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but-"
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," Harry gloomily interrupted.
"And? What would it matter if you were?" I reasoned with a careless shrug, "That git back at Madam Malkin's won't like you? If you ask me, that's a point in Hufflepuff's favour."
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," Hagrid added darkly, "there's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."
My eyes widened slightly.
"Vol-sorry-You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?" Harry repeated in shock.
"Years an' years ago," was Hagrid's response.
I looked down, frowning deeply.
Before either of us could pester Hagrid for more information, we arrived at Flourish and Blotts-a store filled to the brim with books on every subject from Wizarding History to Theology & Religion to Curses Hexes Jinxes & Defensive Magic to Potions and Herbology to Law to Magical Creatures.
"Holy shit, I've died and gone to nerd heaven-nobody pinch me," I breathed, looking around in amazement. "Oi, mate-you mind getting my books, too?" I added to Harry hopefully without looking away from the fantastic display, "I wanna look around."
I barely waited for his agreement before I shot off to explore, practically jumping up and down in excitement.
Hagrid and Harry looked at each other in surprise and amusement.
Hogwarts: A History by Bathilda Bagshot, Quidditch Through the Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp, and A New History of Numerology by Lukas Karuzos were soon tucked securely beneath my arm.
Seeing Hagrid and Harry still collecting books from our school lists, I made my way over to a staircase near the entrance, slowly climbing and examing book titles as I went.
Magical Herbs and Fungi...The Oracle of Palombo...Astronomy by Observation...My fingers trailed along book spines until I found myself stopping on one, a thick textbook sticking out in between Achievements in Charming and what looked to be a French play called Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds.
I pulled it out, observing the cover curiously.
Charms of Defence and Deterrence by Professor Catullus Spangle.
From the looks of it, it was an in-depth look into powerful defensive charms.
Intrigued, I added it to my growing pile.
Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms and an interesting looking leatherbound novel titled Hairy Snout Human Heart joined it.
After I was finished(for now-stepping in here, every work of nonfiction felt like fiction and, therefore, was twice as interesting; for the first time in my life, I actually wanted to read my school books for pleasure), I headed back downstairs to pay, dropping my book stack on the counter in front of a surprised-looking wizard twice my age. As he looked over the titles of the books I picked, his eyebrows crept higher. He eyed the thick numerology textbook, and Hairy Snout Human Heart, especially. I felt a flash of indignation at the unspoken slight on my intelligence-though, looking the cashier over, it was clear it was more my age that garnered his reaction than anything else.
A green rubber band snapped.
"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer something a little less...advanced? A few of these are real monsters-"
I smiled fakely.
"Would I be buying them if I did?" I challenged rudely.
The cashier looked taken aback.
I just kept staring him down, green eyes flashing, until he sceptically rang me up.
"You know what, here-"
The cashier impulsively made his way over to a nearby shelf and returned with a small blue book.
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" I read in confusion.
"It's a book of wizard fairy tales," he explained, colouring slightly, "I figure it's a good balance between these monsters-" he wove at my stack of textbooks, "and I liked it a lot when I was your age."
I eyed him critically for a moment before softening my stiff posture.
"Okay. Cool," I said with a nod.
He rang the fairytale book up and added it to the top of my pile.
I forked over less gold coins than I'd expected to, tucking the rest(along with some silver and bronze ones)back into my pocket.
Picking up the heavy stack of books, I awkwardly made my way over to where Harry and Hagrid were standing.
"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley-"
"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances. An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."
"Ready to go?" I asked them cheerfully.
They both looked at my book stack, baffled.
My upbeat expression dropped and I shrugged defensively, once again slightly offended by their unintended jab at my intelligence.
Why does everyone always seem to come to the conclusion that I'm stupid?
"What?" I retorted, "I like to read and these look bloody interesting."
From Flourish and Blotts, Hagrid took us to Potage's Cauldron Shop for, you know, cauldrons. He wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold one which, in retrospect, was probably for the best; it would suck to have to lug that thing around. We bought two sets of scales and two brass telescopes each before stopping by the Apothecary to purchase odd-looking-and smelling-potion ingredients. Or, well, Hagrid bought the ingredients, Harry explored the store and, after getting bored, I somehow ended up sitting outside by the door with my nose buried in Quidditch Through the Ages-how I managed that, I don't entirely remember(I wasn't really paying that much attention).
It was pretty interesting.
The 'four balls' Hagrid mentioned weren't like the one we use in soccer-I guess the 'Quaffle' was, a bit, but it isn't meant to touch the ground and you use your hands like in basketball, not your feet. In fact, Quidditch wasn't really all that much like soccer at all besides the two opposing teams and the use of a ball and a goalie(only, they use the term 'Keeper'). It was kind of like basketball, I guess, with the hoops, but there are three of them. Other than magic(even if I'm still trying to wrap my head around the sport that sounded kind of confusing and about as logical as I'm coming to expect from wizards), I think I'm looking forwards to seeing a real live game of Quidditch the most.
"Jewel? Jewel? J-"
"Hm?" I hummed absentmindedly, not looking up from my book.
"I've been trying to get your attention for ages," Harry informed me impatiently, "we're ready to go."
I very reluctantly pulled my focus away from my book and, to Harry's surprise, pulled a Garfield bookmark from my bag and tucked it into the page I was up to.
"Emergency bookmark," I said.
Harry looked at me oddly.
"You have emergency bookmarks?"
"Dakota packed for me-if it could fit in my bag, she packed it," I replied dryly.
Harry gave me a hand up and, dusting myself off, I followed him over to Hagrid who was looking over Harry's booklist to see what we had left to do.
"Just yer wands left-Oh yeah," Hagrid said, "an' I still haven't got yer birthday presents."
Harry turned red.
I perked up in surprise and excitement.
"You don't have to-"
"Harry, let the man buy us presents-it's his money," I interrupted hastily, smiling innocently at the gamekeeper.
Hagrid's beard twitched, dark eyes bright with mirth.
"I know I don't have to," he told Harry before looking between us thoughtfully. "Tell yeh what, I'll get yeh both animals. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at-an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer both owls. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."
Roughly twenty minutes later, Harry Hagrid and I left Eeylops Owl Emporium.
Harry was carrying a cage holding a beautiful snowy white owl and, in a silver cage, I was holding an adorable horned owl.
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew this was the owl I wanted.
He was calm, yellow-eyed-and, when Harry stuck a finger through the bars of his cage, he bit him.
Suffice to say, I bought him almost immediately after.
Harry couldn't stop stammering 'thank yous'.
Realising how little he's used to getting on his birthday-if the Dursleys give him anything at all, I shared a look with Hagrid, my lips pulling down.
"Don' mention it," Hagrid said after about Harry's hundredth thank you. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from the Dursley's. Just Ollivanders left now-only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand."
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
I don't know what I was expecting a place that sells magic wands to look like, but the narrow shabby-looking storefront covered with peeling paint we stopped in front of wasn't it.
In the dusty window, you could see a wand sitting on a faded purple cushion.
OLLIVANDERS:
Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.
Hagrid pushed open the door, sending off a bell somewhere deeper within the store.
It was smaller than I'd imagined.
The only furniture, besides the endless array of shelves, was a spindly chair that Hagrid took a seat on when we walked in-despite the fact that it didn't look like it was strong enough to hold him and was, quite clearly, a disaster waiting to happen.
Rather than the amazing, colourful, eccentric picture I'd had in my head when I wondered what a wand shop must look like, this was more like-a dusty, forgotten library. Only, instead of books, the shelves were lined with wand boxes.
To my disappointment, I couldn't see a single one big enough to hold a magical umbrella.
While not being especially extravagant, the store seemed to tingle with magic.
"Good afternoon."
My head jerked up and, beside me, Harry jumped. From the crunch that came from Hagrid's direction, and the way the wizard leapt to his feet, I'm guessing the chair was a little more worse for wear than when we arrived.
"Hello," Harry said awkwardly.
Following his line of sight, I blinked seeing an ancient-looking wizard, his eyes pale and his hair wild and white.
"Ah, yes," Mr Ollivander said, staring at us intensely. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing the two of you soon. Harry Potter. Jewel Potter."
I shared an uneasy look with Harry.
"You have your mother's eyes," he added.
"You knew our mother?" I asked him, voice going all soft.
"It seems only yesterday she was in here herself," the wandmaker replied, both answering my question and seemingly ignoring me, "buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."
Ollivander moved even closer to me and Harry, to our shared discomfort.
"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for Transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it-it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."
He was so close to us that his nose almost touched Harry's.
Ah, that's not deeply uncomfortable at all.
"And that's where..."
Ollivander brought up a finger to touch Harry's forehead before, to my discomfort, turning his silvery gaze to me, that same finger moving to briefly hover over my crescent-shaped scar(which was obscured by my wild hair, strands having escaped from my ponytail during the Gringotts cart ride).
I shivered slightly, disturbed.
"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he revealed. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands...well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."
My eyes went wide.
This nutter sold Voldemort his wand?
I darted a look at Harry who glanced back at me.
To our shared relief, at that moment, Ollivander spotted Hagrid and finally moved out of our personal bubbles.
I hesitantly relaxed my tense posture.
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again...Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"
"It was, sir, yes."
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?"
Ollivander seemed suddenly stern.
"Er-yes, they did, yes," Hagrid confirmed uncomfortably before his expression suddenly brightened. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added.
"Then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed", Blondie's voice chimed snidely in my head.
I fought back a scowl.
"But you don't use them?" Ollivander said sharply.
"Oh, no, sir."
Hagrid's hands tightened on his pink umbrella.
"Hmmm," was all Ollivander said, sending a last sharp look towards the nervous-looking wizard before turning back to Harry who would, from the looks of things, be going first.
"Well now-Mr Potter. Let me see."
He pulled out a tape measure.
It was long and had silver markings on it.
"Which is your wand arm?"
"Er-well, I'm right-handed," Harry answered unsurely.
Ollivander told him to hold out his right arm and measured from finger to shoulder, then wrist to elbow, then shoulder to floor, then knee to armpit, and finally around his head.
I wasn't sure how the size of Harry's head could possibly help dictate which wand he should get but, not wanting to be the focus of Ollivander's attention again, kept my mouth shut.
"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons-"
Unicorns-and-phoenixes-are-real-too-?!
"No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."
Suddenly, the tape measure was floating about, going about its job...and Ollivander was flitting about the shelves and pulling down wand boxes.
I shared a wide-eyed look with Harry.
"That will do," Ollivander instructed upon his return.
The tape measure fell to the floor.
I sniggered quietly at the look on Harry's face.
"Right then, Mr Potter," the wandmaker said. "Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Taking the wand, Harry had barely flicked his wrist when Ollivander snatched it and handed him another one.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"
"No, no-here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight-and-a-half-inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
About five wands later, I found myself leaning against the wall, mumbling, "The next one for sure, Harry," after each failed attempt as I buried my nose back in Quidditch Through the Ages and the history of the Golden Snitch and its predecessor, the Golden Snidget(a bird that, after its near-extinction thanks to the sport, the Golden Snitch ball was based off; it's lightning-fast, pretty much just a tiny golden blur on the field, and almost impossible to see-and, when its caught, the game ends and the team that's 'Seeker' catches it is rewarded 150-points), with my bookmark tucked behind my ear.
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere-I wonder, now-yes, why not-unusual combination-holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
I was in the middle of studying a picture of the Golden Snitch(a walnut-sized gold-coloured sphere made out of metal with silver wings), and daydreaming about seeing-and trying to catch-one in person(they kind of fascinated me in a weird way), when a bright flash caught my attention and I jerked up, eyes widening in surprise seeing the red and gold sparks showering the store.
They were coming from the wand in Harry's hand.
Hagrid whooped and clapped and I couldn't help but let out a teasing wolf-whistle.
"Oh, bravo!" Ollivander cried, "Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious..."
As he returned Harry's wand to its box, wrapping it in brown paper, his delight faded to pensiveness.
"Curious...curious..." he muttered.
"Sorry, but what's curious?" Harry asked.
I straightened, eyeing the wandmaker as he fixed Harry with his silvery gaze.
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter," he said. "Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather-just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you and your sister those scars."
I stiffened, not having expected that.
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half-inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter...After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things-terrible, yes, but great."
I couldn't help but let out a derisive snort.
Great my ass.
Harry paid the seven galleons for his wand.
When Ollivander asked me what my wand hand was, my stomach sank.
"I'm a righty, too," I mumbled, reluctantly bookmarking my page and handing my book back to Hagrid before making my way over to where the wandmaker was waiting.
I held out my arm, and he pulled out his measuring tape.
"You got any magical umbrellas back there?" I perked up hopefully.
Hagrid spluttered, coughing.
Ollivander paused, glancing at me critically.
"I'm afraid not," he said simply.
"Seems like an oversight, but okay-" I mumbled under my breath.
After darting through the shelves, Ollivander returned with a new stack of wands.
"Eleven inches, unicorn hair, oak, quite flexible."
I closed my fingers over the handle, barely twirling it before it was wrenched out of my grip and replaced.
"Nine-and-a-half inches, spruce, unicorn hair, swishy."
Nope.
"Ten inches, hornbeam, dragons heartstring, unyielding."
Nope.
"Twelve-and-a-quarter inches, phoenix feather, hawthorn, springy."
Nope. Nope. Nope.
Several wands later, I finally understood how Harry must've felt.
Instead of being a dick about it, he just smiled at me supportively.
Great, so I guess that makes me the evil twin, then?
...I can work with that.
Ollivander stared at me assessingly for a moment before his eyes darted to Harry and back and, struck with a sudden inspiration, he hurried to flip through the shelves.
"Let's try this out for size, shall we?" he said as he returned with even more wand boxes, pale eyes glowing intently as he placed them on the chair with the others and grabbed the box on the top of the pile. "Thirteen-and-a-half-inches, pliable, dragons heartstring, yew."
The wand Ollivander handed me had an ashy appearance. It curled in the middle and was carved with distinct markings(one finishing off the handle, another of an unfamiliar symbol beneath where the wood spiralled, and the last one by the tip of a sun). As soon as I had it in my hand, my breath caught-a warm, tingling sensation spreading from my fingers to my chest and all the way down to the tips of my toes.
Almost in a daze, I twirled it and swung it into an upwards arch causing shimmering gold and green sparks to shower the walls.
My mouth fell open in wonder.
"Yes! Oh, bravo, bravo!" Ollivander exclaimed.
Hagrid and Harry were clapping and beaming at me.
I couldn't bring myself to grin back.
As-exhilarated as I felt, I couldn't help but dwell on one, tiny, glaring detail.
I stared hard at Ollivander.
"Voldemort's wand was yew," I pointed out. "It was thirteen-and-a-half inches, too."
Hagrid and Ollivander both shuddered.
"Jewel! Yeh can' just go 'round sayin' that name in public-!" Hagrid shivered. "I know yeh don' think it's a big deal, but you'll give ev'ryone heart attacks!"
I ignored him, flashing green eyes boring into Ollivanders pale silver.
The wandmaker nodded slowly.
"So my wands evil, then?" I continued.
Ollivander instantly shook his head.
"Your wand isn't evil, Miss Potter-although, that is quite a common misconception," he admitted thoughtfully. "Yew wands are not, despite popular belief, more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts. In fact, I've found the owner of such a wand can equally prove a fierce protector of others." His gaze intensified, "It is curious that, while your brother shares a core with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you share his choice in wand woods and lengths...very curious indeed...but that doesn't make your wand evil. It is, however, powerful. Yew wands don't bond with timid or mediocre witches." Ollivander observed me consideringly, "I think your brother isn't the only one we must expect great things from."
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stared down at the wand in my hand.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
"Got time fer a bite before yer train leaves," Hagrid commented.
After our trip to Ollivanders, Harry and I had both fallen deep into our thoughts.
As we took another escalator out of the Underground and into Paddington station, Hagrid had to tap us both on the shoulder to get our attention seeing how unresponsive we'd been.
Harry agreed and, when he and Hagrid glanced at me, I smiled weakly and nodded.
Hagrid handed me the bills so I could pay this time, still not having a clue about Muggle currency(but finding mad wizard currency easy enough), and we all sat down to eat. Harry and I took the plastic seats across the table from Hagrid with our hamburgers(which we were surprised to realise we liked the same way).
I couldn't stop thinking about what Ollivander said, about Voldemort and mine and Harry's wands, and it made me feel...weird.
I mean, why does Harry share a wand core, a wand core from the exact same phoenix, as Voldemort? And what about me and Voldemort both having thirteen-inch yew wood(presumably harvested from different trees)wands? It's not just unlikely, it's near to impossible-and bloody freaky. I wanted to grab out my wand to examine it, far away from the intense wandmaker-but, figuring that'd be super idiotic surrounded by Muggles as we are, just took a bigger bite from my burger.
It was strange, this side of the wizarding world.
After being emersed in a place like Diagon Alley, and all of the insane, traumatic BS I've had to deal with from the moment I met Albus Dumbledore, sitting out in public, surrounded by Muggles, felt surreal. It was like there was something separating me from them-like I'd stepped through an invisible barrier between the Muggle and magical worlds and there was an intangible film between us.
I wasn't part of their world anymore, not really, and I didn't know how to feel about that.
"You two alright? Yeh've been very quiet."
I glanced at Harry who looked torn.
This was easily the best birthday he'd ever had, I was somehow sure of that, but he was still struggling with everything else-which I definitely got.
Snapping a yellow rubber band this time, I flinched.
Being constantly surrounded by crowds all day had done its damage to my wrists, which were sore and pinkish from how many times I've had to snap myself.
"Everyone thinks I'm special," Harry said finally. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander...but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-sorry-I mean, the night my parents died."
I stared at him for a moment, wavering and biting my lip, before I managed to buck up the courage to put my hand on his shoulder comfortingly.
Harry looked at me quickly.
I didn't know what to say but, to my surprise, it seemed I didn't have to say anything at all-just that one touch, that one sign of understanding and comfort, seemed to make him feel a little bit better.
Shoulders relaxing under my hand, Harry smiled weakly.
Somehow, I knew that what I did made him feel suddenly warm, and neither of us knew what to make of it-or the burst of desperate hope Harry felt at the idea of...this.
Of...me.
An orange rubber band snapped.
"Don' you worry, Harry," Hagrid said reassuringly as he leant across the table, a kind smile on his face. "You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard." He glanced at me, "But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts-I did-still do, 'smatter of fact...and yeh'll have each other."
Harry and I looked at each other almost shyly.
After we polished off our burgers-Hagrid and I getting into a discussion over all the different dragon breeds as we ate(to my disappointment, it'd be illegal for me to own one), we were off to find our train.
Before we boarded, Hagrid handed us each an envelope.
"Yer tickets fer Hogwarts. First o' September-King's Cross-it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursley's," he added to Harry, "send me another letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me...See yeh soon, Harry, Jewel."
My anxiety ramped up as I followed Harry onto the train without our lovable buffer, finding a seat and looking out the window, with Harry pressing his nose against the glass beside me, only to blink when I found that Hagrid had already vanished.
Turning back in his seat, Harry sank down, gripping his envelope.
For the first, uh, ten minutes? fifteen minutes? or so neither of us seemed capable of forming so much as small talk.
Harry kept glancing at me then hastily looking away, staring hard at his envelope, when my eyes flickered sideways to him before darting away.
"You know," I said suddenly, shifting nervously in my seat and looking anywhere but beside me, and Harry shot up, "if-you know, the Dursleys try to keep you from coming to Hogwarts-I mean-if you want-you can owl me, too. Dakota'd kick their asses."
For a moment, Harry just stared at me.
"You can owl me too, if-if you want to," he stammered hopefully.
"I don't think I have to worry about the Dursleys stopping me from going anywhere," I replied, glancing at him dryly. "I think that was kind of the problem."
"I just mean-if you want to talk about-stuff," he finished lamely.
"Stuff?" I repeated teasingly. "What, like in-depth discussions on Care Bears?"
"If you want," Harry said.
The silence fell again, but not for as long.
"No one really explained...what actually happened?" Harry asked carefully. "I mean, I know what Aunt Petunia said, but..."
I pulled my legs up onto my seat, loosely hugging them like a shield.
"A week ago, Dumbledore came to the Morrissey's place," I said quietly, cautious of the Muggles all around us as I kept my gaze firmly on the far window. "He told me about all of this...you...and how when I was one, a couple of weeks or months after our parents died, Petunia snapped and she and Vernon dumped me in the waiting room of a hospital in Winchester. They left a letter for the authorities with my name, my date of birth, just basic stuff...and stating that my parents died and I had no living relatives that wanted me. I didn't know about you, or them. Before my ninth birthday, I never really stayed anywhere for very long...I've been in and out of more foster families than I can count-mostly because, after a while, you learn to stop counting...but then I met Dakota and Alistair and, for some reason, they-" my voice caught, "wanted me."
I cleared my throat roughly, feeling Harry's eyes boring into the side of my face but refusing to let myself look in his direction.
"They're Muggles," I added, "so they don't know much more about all this stuff than I do-but they're really excited about it, maybe even more than I am. I've been processing a lot, though, so I can't really enjoy magic as much as I want to."
The conversation ebbed as Harry processed all of that.
"What do you mean, Aunt Petunia snapped? Why-?"
"Economics...living space..." I drawled, finally glancing over at him, "oh, and I look like mum."
"Wait," Harry said in disbelief, "Aunt Petunia got rid of you for looking like our mum?"
"They had a tumultuous relationship," I deadpanned. "And you can use the word abandoned," I added dryly, "it's not a dirty word-and I don't see how got rid of is exactly better."
Harry just stared at me.
"And I'd appreciate it if you'd stop looking at me like that," I stated pointedly. "If anything, I pity you for having to live with those pricks."
"Your adoptive parents..." he said slowly, "they're good, aren't they? They..."
"They love me a lot," I finished softly. "They say it all the time. I have no idea why, because I'm such a flighty sarcastic weirdo...but they do."
Harry looked at least somewhat relieved to hear that.
"Do you think it's less weird today?" I asked him quietly.
I could tell he wanted to say yes, but I saw the hesitation in his eyes.
"I think it'll take a while before it's less weird," he admitted.
I nodded in agreement, swallowing thickly.
"I always wanted a sister," he added shyly. "Or, any family that wasn't the Dursleys, really."
"I always wanted someone to bail me out of jail," I quipped, "so this works in both our favours."
Realising I was joking, Harry snorted.
"So, uh...do you have a favourite band?" I wondered after a few minutes.
"Uh-no. Not really. Do you?" he stammered slightly.
"Uh-no. Not really. I listen to a lot of music," I added after a brief awkward pause, "it's too hard to pick a favourite. I like The Clash-"
I gestured to my shirt only to deflate when I realised Harry, who nodded and smiled awkwardly, hadn't heard of one of my favourite bands.
"Any favourite-cartoons?" I went on hopefully.
"The Dursleys don't let me watch cartoons," Harry admitted, "they think it'll give me ideas."
"What-like you'll magic up a piano and-"
I smacked my hands together, wincing jokingly.
"I guess," he laughed nervously.
"So...do you have a favourite movie?"
"No, not really," he said.
"Right," I mumbled, shifting in my seat.
"Do-do you-?"
"I'll watch just about anything," I said quickly, "as long as it isn't a flaming pile of rubbish. Dakota's a total action buff-that, and sports-and Alistair's really into sci-fi, superheroes, and science-y stuff, that sort of thing-and I guess their tastes have rubbed off on me. I love horror movies, too. Oh, and fantasy-you know, like the Labyrinth...the NeverEnding Story...Star Wars and Star Trek-which arguably fall under the 'fantasy' umbrella...The Princess Bride...anything by Studio Ghibli...most Disney movies...Edward Scissorhands...Drop Dead Fred...that sort of thing. And I like a good comedy, especially if there are horror elements-like Beetlejuice...Ghostbusters...The Witches...Who Framed Roger Rabbit...Gremlins...Little Shop of Horrors...-"
Despite not recognising half the movies I rattled off, Harry nodded.
"Sooo...sport?"
"Uh-no."
"Favourite TV show?"
"I don't really have one."
"Books?"
"I-uh-"
Our awkward game of getting to know you quickly ended when we found ourselves reaching for real bottom of the barrel stuff-like favourite colours.
Harry pulled out his ticket, examining it, while I flipped through Quidditch Through the Ages.
Finally, the train pulled into the station and we got off, standing around awkwardly as we waited for one of our guardians to come into sight.
"Jewel! Sweetie, over here!"
I spun around, anxiety easing as soon as I heard Dakota's voice.
"Dakota!" I beamed, rushing over.
The Amazon scooped me up in a huge hug.
"Oh, happy birthday, darling!"
"I mean, I'm here too, but whatever-" Alistair pretended to mope.
"Oh, are you? I didn't notice," I joked with a cheeky tongue-in-teeth grin, squinting at him as if surprised to see him.
Alistair gasped and held a mock offended hand to his chest.
Dakota shook her head at us, amused.
"Happy birthday, kid," he said, opening his arms.
I wriggled out of Dakota's tight grip and was quickly pulled into his.
"Have you had a good day so far? Is everything...okay?" Dakota asked carefully, touching my shoulder with more than a hint of concern in her eyes.
"I-I think so," I said thoughtfully, a hesitant smile on my face. "Get this-dragons and unicorns are real," I added quickly, "I saw a goblin-they run a wizard bank-apparently, I'm loaded-me and Harry have a small fortune under Gringotts-the goblin bank-that our parents left us-I have a wand now, I'll show you it later-and Harry basically agreed to bail me out of jail whenever, so I'm all set."
Even among dragons unicorns fortunes and goblins, it was Harry they focused on.
"Did it go well? Meeting him? Seeing..."
Dakota glanced at Alistair who tightened his hold on me almost imperceptibly.
I glanced over my shoulder and, following my gaze, they stopped short seeing Harry watching us silently from a few feet away.
"Is that...is he...?" Dakota looked at me quickly. "Oh! Oh-Harry!"
Without waiting for my reply, she was off, her hand out and a bright smile with enough wattage to blind a man on her slightly flushed face.
"I'm Dakota Morrissey, Jewel's adoptive mother-it is so-it's-" she grasped the taken aback boy's hand, "It's great," she settled on firmly, "so, so great to meet you."
Taking him in, her rapid handshaking slowed and her smile softened.
"You have the same eyes..." she breathed. "Oh-sorry-" she blushed, letting go of his hand and stepping back. "This is Alistair, my husband-" she added.
Alistair and I made our way over, his arm slung casually over my shoulders.
"So, you two are...very fraternal," he commented.
"Alistair!" Dakota scolded, smacking his shoulder.
"I didn't mean it like it's a bad thing," Alistair defended hastily. "I really, really didn't," he added to Harry, holding out his free hand. "It's really fantastic to meet you."
Harry shook his hand in a daze.
"Uh-you too-it's-" he stammered, "it's very nice to meet you, too."
Alistair blinked.
"Damn, you're polite, aren't you?" he snorted, "maybe some of that might rub off on this one."
He tightened his arm around me, shaking me slightly for emphasis.
"Oh, shove it," I retorted, poking out my tongue.
Alistair rose his eyebrows at Harry like, 'see?'
"Jewel was so nervous to meet you-" he smirked, "she wouldn't shut up about it, all week. She was worried you wouldn't like her, which is crazy-"
"Oi!" I exclaimed, elbowing him in the side.
My face went bright pink.
Alistair just winked back cheekily.
"We have to get going, but-" Dakota said regrettably, checking her watch before looking at me sharply, "Did you remember to get their number?"
"Uh..." I grinned sheepishly.
"Do you know your aunt and uncle's number, sweetheart?" she asked Harry with a sigh.
"Yeah, it's-"
Harry rattled off the Dursley's number-only to have to repeat it again after Dakota fumbled to grab out her address book and a pen from her purse.
"This is our home phone-and my mobile is here-and this is Alistair's-"
Dakota scribbled on a random page in the back of her address book before tearing it out(-not mentioning that she'd 100% be buying a new one as soon as we leave and painstakingly copying all of the information because she can't stand leaving bits of paper behind after ripping pages out), handing it to Harry who held it carefully, staring at it like it was a priceless Egyptian artefact or something.
"If you don't get the home phone, and you want to talk to us or Jewel," she added, "just call me or Alistair. I'll give your aunt and uncle a ring sometime tomorrow. Hopefully, we can figure out a time for us to meet and work out for you and Jewel to spend some more time together-probably at our house. I-I don't think it's a good idea for Jewel to spend time alone at your house right now, not without me or Alistair there."
She glanced at me, a flash of worry and protectiveness in her eyes.
"Oh-" Dakota smiled warmly, "and a very happy birthday to you too, Harry."